Steel Crew : Books 1-3 (Steel World Box Set Book 7)

by Mj Fields

  I beat on the glass. “Open the fucking door!”

  When she walks out the door, I scream, “You cu—”

  A loud laugh cuts off the rest of the vulgarity ready to fly out of my mouth, a word I have never had to use.

  I quickly look left.

  He has a towel wrapped low on his waist.

  “We could have saved water and showered together.”

  “I’d rather swim in shit, Tags.” I say his name like a taunting teen would.

  “All right then.” He lifts one of his bulging shoulders. “I guess you’re on your own.”

  “Better than being on you,” I snip back.

  When he grins, I immediately regret my choice of words.

  He lifts his chin. “Yeah right.”

  I lean over the edge of the balcony. Three floors. I can do this. If things go bad, I can leap and will land in the pool, unscathed, and grab my clothes.

  “Bad idea, little badass.”

  I glare over at him. “Go away.”

  Out of my peripheral, I see him walk inside his room. Thank God.

  As quick as he goes in, he comes back out. He tosses something at me. It hits me in the face, and I let it drop to the floor. “Put that on and sit your ass still for a minute. I’ll open your door from the inside.”

  “Oh, and how are you going to get in?” I ask, propping a hand on my hip.

  He looks down, and I realize I’ve had a Janet Jackson and the nip slip incident. “You’re gonna make winning this as hard as you’re making my dick, sweets.”

  “How about you grow up and focus on your wife?”

  “She hasn’t been really receptive for the past two years and nine months, sweets.”

  “I wonder why with a man like you.”

  He scrubs his hand over his face, sighs, and then shakes his head. “I’m just gonna put it out there that your apology is already accepted.”

  “You’re a piece of work, you know.”

  He gives me a blinding smiling. His eyes even sparkle.

  Damn his hotness.

  “I’m glad you noticed.”

  Before I have the chance to yell at him, he’s already gone.

  I do not want his help, I think as I lean over the railing again.

  Less than a minute, maybe even a moment later, the door to the balcony slides open. I look back and see him, Tags, standing behind me in ball shorts and a black tank top. I bite back a thank you, because I don’t want to be nice, and step toward the doorway that he’s filling.

  I’m about to tell him to get the hell out of the way when I see his eyes searching, seeking, and then, in a blink, it’s gone.

  He sighs. “You’re a producer.”

  “You’re in my way.”

  “Do you have any fucking idea how hard this is gonna be for you and me?”

  “Only because you’re making it so.” I scowl.

  He leans in and swallows hard. I like the way his Adam’s apple …

  No, fuck no.

  His hot breath caresses my face as he says, “Show me what I see in you is real, show me you’re strong, and I’ll show you I’m stronger.”

  “You’re a married man.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Leave me alone.” I hear the plea in my voice, meant to be masked.

  “I already know that’s impossible.” He grips my hips and pulls me toward him.

  “Please don’t,” I nearly beg as he leans in, his lips centimeters from mine.

  But he does.

  When I walk outside and onto the hotel restaurant’s patio where a family-style dinner is already being served to a table of two dozen people—the cast and what I assume is the crew—I do so with pride, even knowing how absolutely ridiculous I look.

  The first person I see is Tags. He leans back in his chair and covers his smile.

  “Oh damn,” one of the guys fists his hand and holds it in front of his mouth.

  I search the table until I see David Gorgon, the executive producer. Then, holding my head high while trying to walk in the six-inch pleather boots that are two sizes too big for me, I ignore the annoyance in his eyes.

  When he looks left to Mara, his daughter, he glares at her.

  She rolls her eyes flippantly and sits back.

  I reach out my hand. “Mr. Gorgon, I’m Isabella Steel, and I want to thank you for the opportunity.”

  “Ass-kisser,” Mara mumbles.

  Ignoring his daughter, David stands and shakes my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He keeps his eyes on mine, telling me he’s a gentleman, since he’s not staring at my tits popping out of the leather bustier that I tried to cover with the tank top that Tags had thrown at me that I’m now wearing as a dress.

  “Have a seat. You missed appetizers, but dinner is ready.”

  “Wardrobe malfunction.” I smile, and he looks at his daughter.

  She shrugs.

  There are a few chairs open, but the one next to her, well, it’s calling my name.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I ignore her sneer and sit next to her.

  The girl on the other side smiles. “Hi, I’m Maxine, Mr. Gorgon’s—”

  “Whore,” Mara mumbles under her breath.

  I quickly look at David, who either didn’t hear her or is ignoring her. Then I look back at Maxine. “I’m Isabella.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Mara leans forward. “How about you two share a room?”

  “Um …” Maxine says, looking at David.

  He stands up. “Mara, a word.”

  “No.”

  When he leans down and whispers in her ear, she stands up, nearly toppling her chair over. I catch it and right it before it hits the floor.

  Introductions

  Tags

  She looks sexy, edible, fuckable, and every other -able you can think of. I get it; her clothes were all soaked when I fished them out of the pool and set them at her doorstep. She had no choice but to play the little temptress.

  The problem is that every other fucker in here is thinking the same shit as I am, and it pisses me off.

  Pushing past pissed and trying to act a little more civilized, I get a conversation going … that’s not just in my head. “While we wait for those two to return, why don’t we all introduce ourselves to our newest producer?”

  “Why?” Neo huffs. “She won’t be here long.”

  “I think she just proved she will be,” I say in the least aggressive way I can.

  “The last one left crying. This one’s gonna piss Mayhem off one more time and end up leaving in a body bag.”

  My fists ball at my sides. “Not likely.”

  “She’s the only one of us without a record; she’d get away with it, too.” Dagger shrugs.

  I look at Bella, whose eyes widen for a split-second then relax again.

  “I’ll start,” Maze, the oldest of us, says. “Name’s Maze. The crime is fleeing from the police, a misdemeanor. Then evading, a felony.”

  “Grimm, grave robbing.”

  “Blade, armed robbery.”

  “Let me guess; with a knife?” Isabella asks.

  He smiles and nods.

  “Axel, B&E.”

  “Ranger, drunk and disorderly.”

  “Darby, DUI.”

  “Breaker, also B&E.”

  “Dagger, felony possession.”

  “Neo, possession and unlawfully dealing with a minor.” He narrows his eyes at me.

  I look at Bella and roll out my laundry list, “Tags, started with shoplifting, vandalism, breaking and entering, assault, and the last one was vandalism again.”

  “A few times,” Neo mumbles.

  I look away from him and back at her. “Yeah, a few times.”

  She’s unreadable. Then she grabs the glass of water in front of her, takes a drink, and sits back. “Cool. So, aside from being artists and felons, what else is there to know about you?”

  “How about you tell us abo
ut you?” Neo says, looking her over.

  “All right. I’m not a tattoo artist but grew up in a shop. My family ran one.”

  “Cupcake shop?” Axel asks.

  “Tattoo shop. I’ve just completed my masters degree and am happy to be here despite the unwelcome reception. But I’m going to chalk it up to a hazing of sorts and move on.”

  “Where you from?” Maze asks.

  “New Jersey.”

  “Just across the river from a few of us.” He smiles, and she nods.

  “You get the job because of your family or the same way Maxine got hers?” Blade asks her.

  “My education,” she answers as she reaches for the bowl of green beans.

  “Uh-huh.” Neo laughs.

  She nudges Maxine, who’s looking down at her empty plate sullenly. “Beans?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Allergic?”

  Again, she shakes her head.

  Bella spoons some out on her plate. “You have to eat something.”

  “So, you have no problem working with a bunch of felons?” Maze asks her.

  “I treat people the way they treat me.” She passes the beans to him. “If I’m assigned you and you run, I’ll catch you quicker than the cops.”

  He laughs, and so do some of the others.

  When David returns, Mara’s not with him.

  Holding his tie to his shirt, he sits and gives Maxine a wink. I look at Bella and see her nudge Maxine, who’s now smiling.

  “All right, tomorrow we’re back at Mayhem. Ten a.m. sharp. No fucking excuses. No bullshit. We have a budget to stick to. We go over budget, we do double eliminations to make up for it. We’re doing mothers and daughters. I need good footage, not wasted hours, you all hear me?”

  We nod, and not because we’re little bitches, but because we all need a fucking paycheck.

  “Still no elimination in the plans for week one, unless we can’t get shit. You’re on camera, be you. But remember, we’re hoping this gets picked up by a major network.”

  He looks at Bella. “Sorry about Mara.”

  “She and I will be fine,” Bella states matter-of-factly.

  “Any ideas, changes, directions you think we should take?” he asks her.

  “I’d like to reserve judgment until I actually see what works and what else doesn’t.”

  “You said what else; clearly you have an issue with something.” David leans forward.

  “The name, Fifty Shades of Ink.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder. “None of these guys look like how any of us picture Christian.”

  “It’s a play on words.”

  “It’s misguiding the audience; breaking trust before it’s even established,” she counters.

  “Sex sells.”

  She nods. “I agree. You picked a hot cast.”

  “Hell yes, they did.” Blade laughs.

  She ignores him and continues, “But they’re not pretty boys.”

  Dagger, the one who looks like a toddler got ahold of a Ken doll and a Sharpie, huffs, “Some of us are very pretty.”

  “I’m all man. I’ll be glad to prove it,” Neo taunts.

  She points to him without looking. “Some seemingly overcompensate.”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll prove you wrong,” he retorts.

  She does look at him now. “You just proved me right. Two minutes isn’t worth my time.”

  The table erupts in ooo’s and laughter.

  She looks back at David. “Many women want to tame the bad boy, and some just want to experience the fantasy, the forbidden. You have a table full of ex-cons.”

  Several mumble under their breaths, but she doesn’t stop.

  “All who I’m sure have stories of how they rose up and ended up here. Give your audience something to cheer for.”

  “Go on,” David encourages her.

  “I agree that sex sells, but so does rooting for the underdog. It gives us all hope.”

  “Give me a name,” he says while picking up his drink.

  “I haven’t really thought it through.”

  I watch as he considers what she has to say. Then, a split-second later, the look is gone.

  “We’ll stick with Fifty Shades of Ink.”

  I look around the table and see a divide. The majority like her idea.

  Damn, sweet treat, just … damn.

  After dinner, David stands. “Let’s all get a good night’s sleep so we can bring our A game tomorrow.”

  I watch as Bella makes it a point to say goodnight to everyone. Doesn’t mean I like it, but I watch it, trying to figure out her tells. To see how she shakes each hand, her body language, her facial expressions, and the way she leaves the conversation.

  When she gets to me, she looks up, her smile as bright as it was with the others. “So, you’re married and a felon?”

  “Makes you want to bring me right home and meet the folks, doesn’t it?”

  She frowns, turns, and walks away.

  And I have to let her.

  I’m not a stalker. I laugh at the thought as I eavesdrop on the conversation next door. It’s not like I climbed across the eighteen-inch gap between the balconies, pressed my body against the wall so I wasn’t seen, or put my ear to the glass to overhear what is going on. Their door’s cracked … or I would have.

  Mara is moving her things to another room, at David’s insistence. She’s pissed that she has to move. I’m annoyed that Isabella offered to do so. She’s now waiting for Isabella to give her the boots, fishnets, and leather, laced-up bodysuit Bella had to wear because of Mara’s bullshit.

  “Don’t make me take it off you,” Mara snaps at her.

  “You may be six inches taller than me and spend a hell of a lot more time at the gym than I do, but look at me, Mara, look at me and realize what oozes from me. It isn’t fear; it’s determination. So you fucking wait until my shit’s dry or you’re gonna have your hands full.”

  “You think I won’t?”

  “You wanna be on camera tomorrow with a split lip and a couple of black eyes, bring it.”

  I hear feet rustling and jump up, ready to jump in.

  “You just fucking pushed me!” Mara screams.

  “Get in my face again and you’ll get worse, bitch.”

  Aw fuck.

  “Did you just call me a bitch!”

  “You’ve certainly earned it and are one step away from cunt, so if you’re offended, Mayhem—”

  “What did you just call me?”

  Here we fucking go.

  Bella laughs. “Cunt offends you so much, don’t act like one.”

  One foot on the railing, the other on a chair, I’m ready to pounce.

  “Mayhem. Who told you my street name?”

  “Overheard it.” I hear more rustling. “Now there’s your fucking leather. Get the hell out.”

  “Nice tits. Your daddy buy them for you?” Mara sneers.

  “Tits this nice can’t be bought. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

  “Neo may have put his dick in you, but you’ll never win his heart.”

  “I wouldn’t fuck him with your,” she pauses, “cunt.”

  When I hear the door slam, I hop back onto the balcony floor.

  David was dead wrong to put Mara in the same room with anyone after the bullshit she pulled on the last chick—a hairpulling, cat scratching, chick fight that all the guys enjoyed way too fucking much … until they realized it’s the reason we’re not having three days here in Miami without work before we move on to our next location—Las Vegas. All the guys are psyched about the move.

  “Hey, Dad.” Pause. “No, I’m good.” Pause. “I didn’t call because I was busy. I sent a picture in the group chat at the airport and at the hotel.” Pause. “No, it’s good. It’ll be a challenge.” Pause. “Oh my God, really?” She laughs. “It’s my first day. First five hours, actually. If it wasn’t a challenge, I’d be bored.” Pause. “I’m good, Dad, really,” she huffs. “But nothing,
I don’t need you here.” Pause. “I’m taking care of it. And no, I’m not giving you a name.” Pause. “I’m going to say I love you now, because I feel I’m real close to hanging up on you.” Pause, and then she laughs. “Well, knock it off then. I’m good; better than good.” Pause. “Do you not remember I survived six years in New York City.” Pause. “Love you, too, Daddy.”

  That phrase, Daddy, shouldn’t rub me the wrong way, but it does.

  “Tell everyone I said hi, and I love them. Bye.”

  I find myself questioning, Who is everyone?

  When she walks out and looks at me, hand on her hip, in my tee-shirt and a pair of PJ shorts, she asks, “Why don’t you worry more about your wife and less about who everyone is?” I realize I asked the question out loud.

  I sit back in the chair, kick my feet up on the railing, and grab my smokes off the table beside me.

  “Well?”

  I smirk then light a smoke, take a drag, lean my head back on the chair, and blow the smoke in the air. “Just curious about the girl whose pussy I crave.”

  “You seriously had no right to kiss me, and you will not do it again. Ever.”

  I pull my feet down and sit up. “Because I’m married, or a felon?”

  She opens her mouth then shuts it twice before saying, “I don’t care what you’ve done in your past, but being married—”

  “That’s in my past, too.” I snuff out the cigarette and stand.

  “You’re presently married.”

  “But I don’t want to be.” I cross the floor and step on the chair.

  She holds her hand up. “Stop.”

  “What if I don’t want to do that either?”

  When I step on the chair and put one foot on the ledge, she steps back.

  “Get away from me.”

  “Your mouth says no; your nipples are a go.” I step on the ledge.

  “Go,” she says, “meaning go away.”

  Standing, both feet on the ledge, she covers her eyes. “If you fall—”

  “We’ll fall together.” I step across then jump down.

  Spreading her fingers, she looks through them at me.

  “This is not a good idea.” I walk toward her. “I say six to nine months, and here you are. I say you need to forget we met, and you’re in the next room. Your lips begged to be kissed, and I couldn’t tell you no—”